


title of y(o)ur sex tape

by imhereforgaysuperheroes, WitchyLurker



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fury Needs a Goddamn Raise, M/M, b99 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imhereforgaysuperheroes/pseuds/imhereforgaysuperheroes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyLurker/pseuds/WitchyLurker
Summary: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers are the star detectives of Brooklyn’s 99th precinct. Their arrest numbers are staggering, and they have recently been handed a special assignment: investigating New York’s mysterious Alexander Pierce.The only problem?They can’t stand each other.





	title of y(o)ur sex tape

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Stucky AU Big Bang 2018! This has been absolutely crazy and I'm so glad this fic is finally out there! Thanks to the whole slack attack family, especially A, Jesse, and Grandma Jay - you guys are amazing. And a HUGE shoutout to Witchy, who came through with the absolute coolest art ever made. (Seriously. It's awesome.)

In life there are several certain, inalienable truths. For Brooklyn’s 99th precinct, there are three.

  1. Never get between Tony and his phone.
  2. Always assume Natasha has at least three knives hidden in her jacket.
  3. Never, _ever_ get caught up in an argument between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.



Sam learned the latter lesson the hard way during his first week in the Nine-Nine. He was an enthusiastic, freshly-promoted detective, so when he heard the muffled sounds of shouting coming from the break room, he naturally got up to investigate. He wasn’t the only one that got up; but as Sam walked up, he noticed that the others were simply observing what was going on inside with amused looks on their faces, rather than putting an end to it. Sam was elbowing his way through when someone caught his arm and he looked up to see the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on-- _Romanoff_ , right, he’d met her earlier. Her lips were stretched into a smirk.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Sam glanced through the window. Two men, both huge and muscular, were going at it and seemed about half a second away from flipping tables. He couldn’t just go back to his paperwork. Ignoring Romanoff’s advice, Sam muscled his way through and opened the door.

 _“--completely_ inept, you could’ve ruined _months_ of work, you asshole!”

“Not my fault you have some weird as fuck filing system you pulled outta your ass!”

“At least my filing system isn’t just sticking forms in whatever pile is closest!”

“Hey,” Sam interrupted. The two men whipped around, like they had just noticed he was there. “What’s, uh...what’s up?”

The dark-haired one stalked up to him and smiled in a way that made Sam’s blood run cold. “What’s up,” he said slowly, “is _that_ asshole thinks I made detective by accident even though we all know he’s here because his dad used to be commissioner.” The blond’s face turned a furious shade of red. “What’s up,” the other one continued, “is that because the rest of us don’t have binders and sticky notes stuffed up our asses, _that asshole_ thinks we’re incompetent even though I have more felony arrests than him.”

“ _Barely_ ,” the blond interrupted, “and how many of your cases were thrown out because of shitty paperwork?”

“And how many of _your_ cases, Rogers, got you medals of honor?”

“Surprised you even know where your medal of honor is, considering the fact that your desk looks like a garbage dump in the Philippines.”

And they were off again, shouting and gesturing wildly with their fists, completely forgetting that Sam was there. Cheeks flushed, Sam retreated from the room.

“Sweet baby,” said a voice, and when he turned he saw Tony, the civilian administrator, coming up behind him. “Hasn’t anyone told you? You _never_ interrupt them. Steve and Bucky are like me, we’re on a different plane than you mere mortals.”

Sam gave him a look. “So everyone just lets them scream at each other in the middle of a police precinct?”

“Oh no, the cavalry will be coming in about……….wait for it…….three, two-now!”

Captain Fury strode past them, muttering under his breath. Tony turned to grin at Sam. “See? Perfect timing.”

“Rogers! Barnes!” Fury yelled. That actually snapped the two men out of their argument and they both turned to face their captain. Neither seemed at all embarrassed to have been caught fighting like children. “Is this break room a crime scene?”

“No, sir,” answered Rogers.

“Is this break room the home of a person of interest?”

“No, sir,” answered Rogers.

“They’re rhetorical questions, fuckwad,” Barnes muttered. Rogers’s ears went red and his nostrils flared.

“You--”

 _“Then why_ ,” Captain Fury continued, his booming voice drowning out Rogers, “are you still in this break room? Get back to work or your asses will be on a permanent break! Dismissed!”

Rogers ducked his head and shoved his way out of the room. Sam couldn’t help but notice the smirk on Barnes’s face as he sidled past Fury and went back to his own desk. Rogers had a point. It was covered with piles of folders and case notes, half-eaten muffins, empty bags of potato chips, and...what looked suspiciously like a mouse in that bottom drawer. This was the precinct’s best detective? Or one of them, at least?  Rogers’s desk was on the other side of Barnes’s, and if Sam didn’t think they were opposites before, he knew it now. Rogers had a neat stack of binders, color-coded to match the drawers in his file cabinet. Rogers went to sit down now, pulling out a file with a scowl, and marking off a few random spots. He glanced up and met Sam’s eyes. Sam nearly fell into Romanoff’s desk trying to make it look like he hadn’t been staring. He definitely did not want that anger directed towards him. Best to keep his head down, do his work, and avoid the break room.

That had been two years ago. Now he was Bucky’s partner, running buddies with Steve, and had long ago learned that for his own sanity, he should never, _never_ allow either of them to start talking about the other.

_Ever._

 

 

* * *

 

The morning of January 14th dawned bright and pleasant. It was a little chilly, yes, but Steve was a New Yorker, born and bred—he could handle a little snow. He changed into one of his favorite pantsuits before getting in his car. There was as little traffic as was possible on a Brooklyn street. His coffee was perfectly made. He had plenty of open cases. So when Steve Rogers walked into the bullpen of the 99th precinct, he was in a fantastic mood.

The scoreboard made it even better.

“So, Barnes,” he said, leaning against Barnes’s desk, “it looks like I’m in the lead by one and if I’m not mistaken, today is the last day of the bet.”

“It sure is,” Barnes said with a smirk. Steve’s stomach dropped. In the distance, a crow began screeching, a sign of impending disaster. This was very bad.

“Why are you smiling? You should be worried, why aren’t you worried?”

Bucky made a little hand signal and pointed behind him to a row of men being led into holding. How long had they been standing there? “I ran a prostitution sting through vice and arrested 30 guys for soliciting.”

Steve lept up. “That’s not a felony!” he cried, hanging on to this last shred of hope with a steel grip.

“It is when it’s your second offense, which is the case for ten of these gentlemen.”

“Oh god.”

“And unless _I’m_ mistaken,” Barnes said smugly, getting out of his seat, “we have one minute left.”

“No.”

“Add ten for Barnes.”

_“No.”_

Everyone in the bullpen was circling but Steve couldn’t look away from Barnes. This wasn’t happening. _This wasn’t happening!_

“Accept your fate.”

 _“Never,”_ Steve growled.

“Five…”

Steve looked around on his desk frantically, trying to find something, anything—

“...four…”

Damn it he didn’t have any more felony cases, Fury hadn’t given him any yesterday—

“...three…”

Barnes was circling, the most self-righteous smirk on his face, and Steve had never hated him more than in that moment.

“...two…”

“Barnes,” Steve threatened, “I’ll skin you alive.”

“One!”

Barnes whipped out air horns, and Steve clutched at his ears to prevent them deafening him. “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang was playing. There was confetti. Tony leapt out from behind his desk and began shooting silly string into Steve’s hair. Natasha was draping a red fur-lined clock around Barnes’s shoulders.

That fucking _bastard_ had set all this up.

“Steve Rogers,” said Barnes, dropping down to one knee, “you’ve made me the happiest man in the world. Will you do me the honor of going on a date with me—you have to say yes.”

Steve’s entire face was red-hot, and he was uncomfortably conscious that everyone was entertaining themselves with this, but all he could do was growl out under his breath, “...Yes.”

“He said yes!” Barnes cried, leaping up and wiping fake tears. “He said yes!”

And with that, Barnes grabbed Steve’s hand and slid an already-eaten Ring Pop onto his finger.

Steve squeezed his coffee cup so hard it burst.

 

* * *

 

“Close the blinds, Barnes.”

Bucky frowned, but complied. “Why?”

“I need to discuss a matter of importance with you, and I don’t want Rogers reading my lips.”

“He’s freakishly good at that.”

“Indeed.” Fury motioned for him to sit. Bucky did so—there were certainly people Bucky ignored orders from, but Fury wasn’t one of them. Usually. Sometimes.

“Have you ever heard of Alexander Pierce?”

Bucky snorted. “Head of the Hydra corporation. I’ve brought in fifty of his guys. They always get off, that guy is untouchable.”

“He may not be. The FBI has reopened their investigation. They believe with the right detectives and the right investigation, we’ll be able to put away Pierce for good. I’ve selected you for this assignment—”

“Obviously.”

“And Rogers.”

Bucky stared at Fury. He couldn’t be joking. Captain Fury didn’t joke. He didn’t experience any emotion, let alone humor. “Well, that sounds _fun._ ”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “Sarcasm. The coward’s lie. You and Rogers have the best records in this precinct. You’re my brightest detectives and you _will_ put aside your personal issues to aid this investigation and bring down Pierce.”

“All due respect, Captain, it’s more than ‘personal issues,’” Bucky replied with a scowl. “We can’t work together. Rogers is an ass—we can’t work together. I’ll work the case with Sam.”

“I am the captain of this precinct,” Fury said, standing up and leaning over his desk, “which means I assign the cases, and I am assigning this case to my two best detectives. This is not the high school cafeteria, Barnes. It doesn’t matter who you are or are not getting along with. You will work the case with Rogers and so help me, if either one of you jeopardizes this investigation because of your little feud you’ll be back to a beat cop so fast you won’t have time to call each other assholes.”

“...What’s the assignment?”

“Our CI says that an employee, Brock Rumlow, is selling Hydra financial records. We need to intercept that drop. It could give the FBI reason to arrest Pierce for fraud.”

Bucky frowned. “I can’t, Fury. We’ve got the big date tonight. I’m renting out a children’s choir.”

“It’s a school night. The choir can go to their homes and get a good night’s rest. All I’m asking is for the both of you to be ready at midnight.”

“...Okay. That leaves us enough time for phase one. But you’re leaving a lot of kids without lunch money.”

“Barnes?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Get out.”

“Yep.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve had graduated from the academy, Erskine had said, with a small smile, “Remember to never lose sight of who you are. A good man.” Steve had never forgotten those words, spoken just hours before Erskine had been shot. He had vowed to protect people; to serve, to harm no one, and to leave the world a better place than he’d found it.

He hadn’t specifically included ripping people limb from limb in that vow, so there was at least some wiggle room when it came to James fucking Barnes.

While Steve hadn’t started the day with murderous thoughts about the biggest dumbass in New York, he was definitely there now. Looking back, the final straw had probably been when Barnes presented the outfit he’d selected for Steve to wear on their ‘date.’

“It’s a unicorn onesie,” Steve had said, dumbstruck.

“Excellent observation, Rogers. I can see why you got promoted to detective.”

Before Steve had a chance to retort, Barnes balled up the onesie and threw it in his face.

So now Steve was standing in front of his mirror, wearing a fuzzy unicorn onesie that was at least one size too small. The hooves flapped around his ankles. One day. One day he was going to show that smug son of a bitch what karma looks like…

An ear-shattering honk echoes from the street, and Steve scowled, knowing it’s the only asshole who would do that at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night. He pulled up his hood (mandated, and he would choke Barnes with it one day), slid on the bedazzled wedges that Sam had dropped off on Barnes’s behalf, and toddled down the stairs, alternating between cursing the day Barnes was born and praying desperately he didn’t slip in these ridiculous shoes and fall down four flights of stairs. He took a moment to compose himself before he walked outside.

He could do this. He was the better man, and he would have his revenge. All he had to do was put up with Barnes for four hours.

 

* * *

 

It had been twenty minutes, and if Steve made it another twenty without bursting a blood vessel, that would be a goddamn miracle.

Bucky fucking Barnes had taken him to Coulson’s, where he _knew_ the whole team would be getting post-work drinks, which means that Tony, Natasha, and _Fury_ all got to see him in a unicorn onesie with wedges the height of a small child. And now, just when he’d thought his embarrassment couldn’t be heightened, Barnes had jumped on top of the bar and announced they were playing Spin the Bottle.

Steve wanted to have a stern word with whoever had allowed Barnes to pass the academy. He tossed back his shot, ignoring Tony’s shouts in his ear about finally seeing the elusive Seven Drink Steve, and when Natasha came over with a sharp smile, he bit out, “Fuck you.”

“You wish, Rogers. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Steve pointed at the unicorn horn on his hood.

“Say cheese.”

Steve sputtered, but he couldn’t hide himself before Natasha had snapped a picture, laughing to herself as she walked away. And while Steve was distracted by that, Tony came and took a surprise selfie with him, “for his blackmail folders.”

If Steve broke his beer bottle and gouged his eyes out, would that count as a good reason to end the date?

But then, unexpectedly, Barnes came over from where he’d been talking to Fury. “Darling?” Steve scowled at him. “Duty calls.”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve muttered as Barnes took his arm and steered him towards the door. “What’s going on?”

“Rumlow’s at dinner. The drop’s happening tonight.”

“I thought you said the drop was happening in a park. Parks are different than restaurants.”

Barnes bit back a few choice words and forced a smile. “Well, apparently he’s having dinner with his sidepiece first. He has the package, this is our best chance to intercept it.”

“Fine. But I’m not wearing this.”

“I have a spare suit for you in the trunk.”

“...What’s the catch?”

“It might be orange.”

 

* * *

 

“I hate you so much,” Steve muttered as they walked into the restaurant. “Hi. Table for two, please.”

The hostess’s eyes widened at the sight of his tangerine three-piece. It was several sizes too large, which had both a positive a negative outcome attached: it managed to completely cover the rhinestone wedges, but as a consequence he looked like he had just stepped out of a 70’s disco. Not even a fashionable-for-the-time disco. Steve’s cheeks burned red as she quickly recovered and pasted on a prim smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry, we’re completely booked up.”

“Oh, no!” Bucky cried, grasping Steve’s arm. “Please, is there any way we can get a table? This is where Johnny and I had our first date three years ago, and we wanted to celebrate our engagement here!”

“Yes,” Steve said, probably a bit too loudly judging by the hostess’s reaction. “We are engaged. Dan here had his heart set on celebrating at this restaurant. I would have made a reservation, but, y’know…” Steve grabbed at Bucky’s hand. “I wasn’t sure he’d say yes.”

“You were so nervous, my little honey bear!”

That was laying it on kind of thick, Barnes.

“Well, I’m sure we can make room for two lovebirds,” said the hostess with a prim smile. “Give me two minutes, I’ll see what we can do.”

The hostess led them to the bar, and Steve wished desperately that they weren’t on duty so he could have a glass of wine. “Engaged,” he said with a look at Barnes. “Smart.”

“I’m a catch, Johnny.”

“Don’t I know it, Dan.”

Barnes huffed a laugh and leaned over the bar to order orange soda. Steve couldn’t help the amused look on his face.

“What?”

“Orange soda?”

“I don’t drink on the job, Rogers. Some of us like to be professional.”

“Wha - I had that drink while we were still on your ridiculous date, Barnes. You can’t have expected me to go through that with no alcohol.”

“Might as well call me Bucky,” Barnes said before slurping up some of his soda like a toddler. “Since we’re engaged and all.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Why not?”

Steve’s nose wrinkled. “Because...we don’t do that.”

Barnes rolled his eyes. “C’mon. I’ll call you Steve if you call me Bucky. It’s probably about time we took it to that level.”

“...Fine. Bucky it is.”

Barnes - _Bucky_ grinned at him. “This is a milestone for us, Stevie.”

“Hang on,” Steve interrupted immediately, “ _Stevie_ was never on the table here.”

“Too late.”

“Mr. Carmuffin? Your table is ready.”

Bucky extended his arm. “Shall we, future-Mr. Carmuffin?”

“I’m not taking your name,” Steve muttered as he reluctantly curled his arm around Bucky’s and allowed himself to be lead out into the restaurant.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, still smiling broadly. “Once we sit down, we don’t have to be engaged anymore.”

“And here’s your table. I’ll be right back to take your drink orders.”

But Steve wasn’t paying attention to the drink order, because when he looked up he saw none other than Brock Rumlow and the sidepiece sitting at the table directly next to them. He felt Bucky hesitate as Rumlow looked up and flashed a predatory smile. This was the worst goddamn night of his life.

“You two’re the engaged couple, right?”

“Uh, yep, that’s us,” said Bucky. “That’s Johnny, and I’m Dan.”

“I _love_ engagements!” cried the sidepiece. “Who proposed? How’d you do it? Ooh, let me see the ring!”

“I proposed,” Steve supplied, remembering the line he’d fed to the hostess earlier. “I’m an...artist, and I was working on this mural - or so Dan thought,” he added, fluttering his eyes at Bucky. Bucky was obviously thrown off by this, and Steve celebrated finally being able to be the one in control. “And when he came to visit me I had painted, ‘Dan, will you marry me?’”

“And when I turned around,” said Bucky, reaching across the table to take Steve’s hand, “there he was, down on one knee.”

The sidepiece clutched at her chest and let out a loud _aww_ , which gave Steve time to glare at Bucky for the hand-holding. Bucky just grinned and gave his hand a squeeze. Steve shook his head, trying to ignore how perfectly their fingers fit together, then let himself fall back into character with a sigh.

“Where’s that ring?” The sidepiece began examining their linked hands.

“Oh, he doesn’t have it. I, uh, I wanted to give him my dad’s ring, and it has to be resized. He’s got really oily fingers, it kept sliding right off.”

The waitress came back, and Steve’s request for a water was interrupted by Rumlow snapping his fingers at her. “Hey, sugar. Let’s get the new fiances some oysters and champagne. And none of that cheap shit, I want the 2010.”

As the waitress hurried away, Steve tried to fight the urge to punch Rumlow. Anyone who snaps at service staff deserves to rot in hell. “You shouldn’t have,” Bucky was saying with a smile that Steve knew must be forced, but was still so effortlessly natural it kind of made him understand why half the precinct had a thing for him.

“Oh, nonsense, it’s a special night.”

“So, when did you guys meet?” The sidepiece looked longingly at Rumlow. “Brockie and I met three months ago, but it feels like it’s been forever.”

“Last year.”

“Five years ago.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged alarmed looks, then both laughed awkwardly. “Well,” Bucky began, “we first met five years ago, but then we lost touch. About a year ago we bumped into each other at a bar, and it’s been pound town ever since.”

“Yes,” agreed Steve, trying to smother a cringe. “Pound town.”

“Don’t let the All-American look fool you, this guy’s freaky - “

“ _Okay, Dan_ ,” Steve hissed, “that’s probably enough information.”

“So, Danny,” said the sidepiece, completely unconcerned with the blush spreading across Steve’s face, “how’d you know he was the one?”

“Huh? Oh. The one. Yes, that’s him. I, uh...well, as soon as I saw that face, and that body.”

The sidepiece laughed. “I know what you’re talking about! He’s hot!” She pinched Steve’s bicep with two long fake nails. “What about you, handsome?”

“Uh - He...he makes me laugh.” Bucky gave him a weird look that Steve couldn’t exactly interpret, and he blushed. “I always wanted to get married to my best friend.”

The sidepiece fawned over him, and Steve began investigating the lovely embroidery on the hem of the tablecloth so he didn’t have to meet Bucky’s eyes. Flowers. Very lovely. Were those forget-me-nots?

“Head to the car, Brandy, I wanna say hi to the chef,” Rumlow said gruffly, grabbing the laptop bag by his feet. Steve immediately locked eyes with Bucky. The handoff was happening.

After muttering something to the sidepiece - Brandy, apparently - Steve slid out of his chair and rushed through the maze of tables towards the kitchen. Bucky came up beside him and pulled him against the wall.

“Do you want the entire kitchen to see you, Rogers?” he hissed. Steve scowled and poked his head back into the kitchen, where Rumlow was shaking hands with someone.

“He’s not making the handoff.”

“What, he’s just chatting with the chef?”

“Yeah - uh-oh.”

 _“Uh-oh?_ What’s _uh-oh?”_

Steve pressed into the corner of the wall. “He saw me. I think he saw me.”

“Real nice detective work.”

“Shut up.” Rumlow was heading towards them. Steve, in a moment of panic, surged forward and planted his lips on Bucky’s.

Bucky went completely still under his mouth, and Steve slid his hands to the back of his neck as a reminder of why they were doing this. Then Bucky started moving. One hand was at the bottom of his shirt, fingers lightly scraping the material, and another was moving up into his hair, and then his tongue slipped into Steve’s mouth and did this _thing -_

There was a sudden loss of contact, and Steve nearly fell over trying to stay attached to Bucky’s mouth. “Sorry about that,” Bucky said with a slight smile. It took Steve a second to realize he was looking over his shoulder, where Rumlow was standing and watching them with a bemused look. “We were looking for a place to…”

“I get it. Enjoy the engagement night, fellas.”

Bucky gave him a small salute. Steve felt like his brain had become a corrupted floppy disk. What the hell was happening.

“Earth to Rogers?”

His eyes snapped up to meet Bucky’s. “Wha?”

“We should probably follow him,” said Bucky, with a look that plainly said he wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or amused. He slipped his hands in his pockets and strode away, whistling under his breath, and Steve had no choice but to take a deep breath and follow.

 

* * *

 

“So, looks like we’ve got some time to kill.” Bucky set down the binoculars, then glanced at him. “Um...don’t take this the wrong way, but all that engagement stuff…”

“What about it?” Steve shot back as he tried to fight his blush.

“It’s just...is that how you proposed to Carter? The painting, or mural or whatever it was?”

At the mention of Peggy, Steve stiffened and his eyes snapped back to the park in front of them. It had been two years, and they were friends now, but Peggy was still a sore subject. “No,” he said tersely.

“It just seemed really detailed.”

“Back off, Barnes.”

Bucky lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine.” He checked his watch. “Damn. The choir is officially off. I wonder if I can return the goat fur shoes.”

“I’m sorry, _goat fur?”_

“Oh, yeah. I got a really good deal on them, like half off the original price.”

“How much was the original price?”

Bucky suddenly became very invested in fiddling with the binoculars. “Wanna play a game or something? We’re gonna be here a while.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Okay. Truth or dare?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. The last game of Truth or Dare he played was...his senior year of college, right, with that weird guy he’d had a crush on at the time. “Seriously?” Bucky stared at him. “Fine, truth.”

 “Boring.” Bucky stretched back and kicked his feet up on the dashboard, sending a prickle of fury down Steve’s spine which he tried to force down. “So what actually happened with Carter? You guys were America’s dream couple and then all of a sudden she’s moving to London and shit.”

 “I’m not talking about this,” Steve said immediately.

"C’mon, I’m curious! And you have to answer. That’s part of the game.” 

“Then I’m not playing.”

“You get to ask me intrusive questions too.”

 Steve paused. Now _that_ was intriguing. “Fine,” he conceded with a sigh. “Peg...she didn’t want to get married, and I did. So she left.”

“I want the gory details. Did she throw a drink in your face? Shoot at you? She was always a spunky gal, I wouldn’t put it beneath her.”

“No, Barnes, because we weren’t on a soap opera.”

“You proposed, and she said no and moved to England? That seems pretty soap opera to me.”

“I didn’t propose,” Steve muttered, face burning red. “We were just talking about it.”

Bucky grinned, then turned back to face forward and stretched his arms behind his head. “Okay, your turn. I pick dare.”

“But - wait! I thought I got to ask you personal questions.”

“Only if I pick truth, Rogers,” Bucky answered with a smirk.

“Okay...okay, I dare you to answer a really personal question.”

Bucky’s smirk twisted, but his eyes were still full of mirth. “Who knew you could work the system so well?”

“Tell me...Crap, I don’t know. Uh…” Steve wracked his brain for something inappropriate and nosy, but couldn’t come up with anything. Bucky had no romantic history, except for some one-night stands with the uniformed officers, and according to all the rumors he had been a perfect gentleman about it. “Tell me something embarrassing, I guess.”

Bucky looked away for a minute, then grinned, barely holding in a laugh. “Okay. This is _really_ embarrassing, so don’t make it a big thing, okay?”

“I probably maybe won’t make it a big thing.”

“When you first started at the Nine-Nine, I had a huge crush on you.”

_“What?”_

Bucky burst out laughing. “I know, right? The big pecs and cute ass had me going, until you opened your mouth and I realized you were an asshole.”

“Cute ass?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Stevie,” he drawled. “Don’t act all modest now.”

Steve could only stare. Bucky Barnes, the lazy entitled asshole, _liked him_ . Or at least had, eight years ago. That was... _gross._ Weird. Eugh. What the hell. Bucky? Liking him? Ew! That was so disgusting. Putrid. Revolting. Bucky only liked clip-on ties and getting on Steve’s nerves. That was it.

But also...some part of Steve was smiling at this revelation, and he couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Okay,” Bucky was saying, kicking his feet up on the dash and folding his arms behind his head. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Ugh. Boring. Guess that’s what happens when your dad’s the commissioner.”

“Erskine died years ago,” Steve shot back. “Just ask your damn question.”

“Yeesh, fine. Did your daddy make you go into the force, or was it just in the blood?”

Steve closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath before he said something he’d regret. “First of all,” he said with as much calm as he could muster, “he’s not my _daddy_. And it wasn’t in the blood, because he’s not my biological dad.” 

“Oh.” Bucky’s eyes softened, and he actually looked a little guilty. “Sorry.” 

Steve shrugged. “It’s fine. My parents died when I was really young, and Erskine was one of my foster parents. And no, he did not force me into the academy. I made that decision on my own.”

“...I’m an orphan too.”

Steve looked over at Bucky, who seemed just as startled by what he’d said, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry. I, uh...my folks died a few years ago. Car accident.”

“Cancer. At least, my ma died of cancer. My dad was a soldier. He died overseas before I was born.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

After a brief moment of silence Bucky started rummaging around in his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. When he flipped it open, Steve was met with the smiling face of a young girl, no more than fourteen or fifteen, sporting rainbow braces and an NYPD t-shirt. “This is Becca,” Bucky explained with a fond smile. “My little sister.”

“I’ve never seen her around the precinct.”

“That’s cause she lives in Indiana.” The smile faded, and Bucky stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. “She lives with my aunt and uncle. She swears, though, that she’s gonna get into NYU or Columbia and come live with me. Which she will. She’s kind of a genius.”

“At least you aren’t biased.”

Bucky actually let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. She’s my favorite person in the world.”

“What about me? I’m your fiance, Barnes, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You,” he drawled, “are not my _least_ favorite person in the world.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Rogers. You’re an ass, but you’re a good cop, and you’re a decent fake fiance.”

“Do you have any notes for me to improve? I want to nail it next time I’m pretending to be your fiance.”

“Ass,” Bucky muttered with a grin. He glanced up at Steve through soft, thick eyelashes, and Steve suddenly realized just how bright and expressive Bucky’s eyes were when they weren’t narrowed in anger. His mouth was a little lopsided, twisted into a sly smirk. His lips were pouty and full. His jaw, dusted over with stubble, was strong and defined.

Damn it. Now that he had stopped actually hating him, he couldn’t deny that Bucky Barnes was _hot_. And he was...actually kind of sweet. His love for his sister was plain as day, and Steve remembered all those times Sam had talked about him, tried to make Steve like him. The times he’d gone to the bar to meet Sam and found Bucky already sitting there, drinking an inferior brand of beer.

“Go.”

Steve jolted in his seat, and, blinking fast, managed out a raspy, “What?”

Bucky gave him an odd look. “The handoff’s happening, let’s go.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, we should go!”

Bucky was still looking at him like he had approximately eighteen heads, but he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car, and a few seconds later Steve, who was still trying to recover from that brief moment of actual _attraction_ , followed suit.

Carefully closing the door behind him, Steve followed Bucky to a clump of trees where he saw Rumlow sitting on a park bench. Next to him was an older, balding man, and the two of them were discussing something too quietly to be heard. Bucky made a little hand motion, and Steve doubled back to grab the parabolic mics.

“- will not be pleased,” the other man was saying in a raspy, heavily accented voice. “You remember what happened to the last person who tried to sell our financial records.”

“The strike team needs money. You want me to go ask a bank for it?” Rumlow growled back. “Get your head outta your ass, Zola.” Steve glanced over at Bucky, but he was already scribbling down the name and pulling out his phone. “The Red Room wants our financials, and Pierce is willing to give it to ‘em.”

“Red Room?” Steve whispered to Bucky. “Isn’t that the one Romanoff was investigating last year?”

“Yes it is,” Bucky muttered. “I’m calling for backup.”

Steve turned to text Sam, and tell him to gear up and get down there, but the ground was slick with slush and he fell flat on his ass, the parabolic mic flying from his grip and whacking into the tree before hitting the ground. They both froze. Rumlow and Zola had gone silent - they had definitely heard it.

“Damn it, Rogers,” Bucky muttered, charging forward. He grabbed the collar of Steve’s jacket and yanked him up, and just as Steve was about to start fighting back Bucky pressed him into the tree and gave him a rough kiss.

Steve went completely still until Bucky, as his hands began tugging on Steve’s shirt, mumbled, “Play along, jackass.”

Steve flushed with anger. Determined not to let Bucky have the upper hand, he flipped them around and grabbed Bucky’s thigh. He lifted, earning a yelp from Bucky as he wrapped his legs instinctively around Steve’s waist, and Steve couldn’t help smirking as he began mouthing along Bucky’s jaw.

“Asshole,” Bucky gasped, arms tight around Steve’s neck.

“You started it,” murmured Steve with a nip at the soft skin beneath his mouth. Bucky let out a colorful array of curse words.

Just as Bucky had begun to recover, Steve dropped him, turned and pulled his gun on the other two men, who were still having their covert discussion. “Freeze! NYPD! Hands up where I can see them!”

“Uh - yeah!” Bucky shouted, aiming his gun with a quavering hand. “We are police! This is a work event! We are uniformed officers who are here on official business!”

The way Rumlow was staring at Bucky, even as he was being handcuffed, made Steve want to burst out laughing. Which he did. Heartily.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

 Steve turned around and saw Bucky standing in the door of the evidence room. “Oh, hey.”

“Zola’s in interrogation. Romanoff’s got Rumlow, she’s trying to get leads on the Red Room.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready for interrogation in a sec.”

Bucky leaned awkwardly against the wall, and crossed and uncrossed his arms several times before he decided against it and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “So. That was weird, huh?"

Steve smirked. “You mean the way you went weak in the knees like you were Scarlett O’Hara? Yeah, that was pretty weird.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Bucky muttered. “And I was _not_ weak in the knees. I was just...surprised that you even knew how to kiss.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. If I’d been prepared, _you_ would’ve been the one weak in the knees. Ask Matt downstairs if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Steve said, quirking one eyebrow. “I’m just saying, based on my experiences tonight, and that thing that was pressing into my hip, I think you were the one weak in the knees.”

Bucky blushed. “I did not have a - if we had a do-over, Rogers, you’d be begging me to have a sex marathon with you.”

“That’s quite the claim.”

“I’m just that good.”

“Eh.” Steve turned to hide his grin, at the astonished look on Bucky’s face. “I never said you weren’t good. I’m just saying that if I were giving you a score, you wouldn’t have to worry about the pressure that comes with winning.”

“Fine. Do-over.”

“What?”

Bucky squared his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “What, Rogers? Scared that I’ll ruin all other men and women for you?"

“Men _and_ women? That’s a confident suggestion.”

“It’s a guarantee.”

“I’m not making out with you so you can try to redeem yourself.”

“Why not?” Bucky smirked, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Instantly, and despite his best efforts, Steve felt his throat go dry. “I think,” Bucky continued, moving closer and looking up at Steve through those ridiculous eyelashes, “that you’re scared.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. _“Scared?”_

“Well, obviously, you know that I’m better than you are, and you’re too scared for me to prove - “

Steve surged forward and planted his mouth on Bucky’s, thoroughly enjoying the surprised squeak that escaped Bucky’s lips. His victory was short-lived, however; once Bucky had recovered he pulled away and began sucking a path down to Steve’s collarbone. Steve had to bite back a curse, and Bucky smiled against his skin as he went to work on Steve’s neck. Oh hell no. That asshole isn’t winning this.

Remembering the reaction it had earned him before, Steve lifted Bucky off the floor and pressed him against the wall of the evidence room. It earned him a soft gasp, but Bucky quickly retaliated by rolling his hips. Steve, determined not to be outdone, grabbed at Bucky’s ass (and what an ass it was) and pushed him further into the wall.

“That all you got, Rogers?” Bucky muttered in between harsh kisses.

Steve growled and was about to show that smug son of a bitch _exactly_ what he’s got when they both heard the door to the evidence room open and Steve jumped back so quickly that Bucky tumbled out of his arms and ended up falling flat on his (honestly, really incredible) ass. Sam was standing there, watching them with wide eyes, his mouth half-open in shock.

Then Sam fainted dead away.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve wasn’t sure what to think about the events of the day. This morning, after losing the bet, he had begun with more hatred in his heart for Bucky Barnes than he had thought possible. But then when they were on the stakeout, he had been...almost sweet, in between his regular asshole-ness. Sam had told him dozens of times before that Bucky was a good guy, tried to convince him to forget about their mutual grudge and extend an olive branch. Steve had been too proud to even consider it. 

Beside him, Sam interrupted these thoughts by stirring and slowly sitting up with a confused expression. “What...happened?”

“You fainted, buddy. We’re in Clint’s nap room, he let us borrow it until you were feeling better.”

Sam frowned. “Why would I faint?” Steve fell silent. Sam began looking around the room, until his eyes landed on Steve, his mouth dropped open, and Steve wondered if there was still time to run. “You!” Sam pointed emphatically at Steve. “You and Barnes! Bucky Barnes! You! And him!”

“It’s not what you think it is - “

“You were humping in the evidence room!”

“Now hold on, there was no _humping_ \- “

“You were making out with Bucky! Bucky Barnes! Detective James Buchanan Barnes was making out with you, Steve Rogers! You were kissing Barnes!”

“Sam - “

“Bucky Barnes!”

“Is there another Barnes I’m supposed to be making out with?”

“I need to lie down.”

“You’re already lying down.”

“James Barnes! And you! Steve Rogers! And Bucky Barnes!”

 _“Okay,”_ Steve interrupted, cutting of Sam’s shocked rambles, “let me explain. We had to pretend to be a couple while undercover, and we had to kiss - “ He ignored Sam’s gasp “ - and Barnes was being an asshole like usual and saying I was scared he was a better kisser and I...shut him up.”

Sam ran a hand over his hair, utterly astonished. “Oh my god. I can’t believe he told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I can’t believe you love him too!”

If freeze-frame moments could happen in real life, this would be one. Steve’s eyes widened, and he said, a little louder than intended, _“Love him?”_

“Isn’t that why you were bumping uglies in the evidence room?”

“Oh my god, Sam, we were just kissing. And no, why on earth would I be in love with Barnes?”

Sam’s smile dropped. “Oh shit.”

“Wait.” Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline _._ “Sam, what do you mean, ‘love him too?’”

“...Bucky has a twin. His name is...Binky. So I thought you loved the two of him. Him two. It’s plausible.”

“I refuse to believe anyone was so cruel they named their child Binky. What the hell are you talking about, Sam?”

“God, Bucky’s gonna kill me,” Sam groaned, rubbing his face.

“Sam!”

“He...I…” Sam sighed. “Okay,” he said in a careful voice, “Bucky might have told me a while ago that he may have been in love with you, just a little bit, for the past, y’know, four years.”

Steve’s vision went black.

 

* * *

 

 

“People need to stop fainting in my precinct!” 

A light was shining in Steve’s eye, and he tried to bat it away weakly. “‘M sleeping.”

“Rogers! Awaken!”

Steve blearily blinked his eyes open, and saw Captain Fury, Sam, Natasha, and Thor standing over him. “Wha?”

“You fainted, small buddy,” said Thor with two hard pats on Steve’s shoulder. “We can’t have that. Thor doesn’t like fainting.”

“I was gonna grab my bullhorn,” said Nat with a sharp grin. “Would’ve saved way more time than these dum-dums.”

Captain Fury sheathed his flashlight. “I have never been more frustrated than I am at this moment. If anyone else wants to faint, do it now.”

Across the bullpen, there was a clatter, and Steve glanced over to find that Clint had collapsed to the floor. Captain Fury stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly turned back to face Steve.

“You fainted,” Sam explained after a few more awkward moments of silence. “I had Thor carry you in here so we could use your scented candle collection to revive you.”

“You didn’t use any of the limited editions, did you?”

“We didn’t need to. We opened the drawer, you caught a whiff of your new imported binders, and then you were up.”

“Oh.” Steve looked around blearily, when all at once, the reason why he had fainted hit him with the same impact of reading a document written in Papyrus. “Oh, Jesus. Sam?”

“There is no time for personal chitchat, Rogers,” said Captain Fury. “Your arrest is waiting in interrogation room A for you.” 

“But I - “

“I had hoped you would not give me cause to be disappointed in you.”

Steve’s blood ran cold. Fury. _Disapproval_.

“No, sir,” he squeaked out. Fury nodded and looked happy (or upset? It was impossible to read his face) as he strode into his office and shut the door behind him. Sam was eyeing Steve like a bomb that was about to go off.

“So,” he said slowly, “it seems like I misread the situation.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, you think?”

“In my defense, why the hell would you be making out in the evidence lockup if you hadn’t had some big romantic moment?”

“Because that asshole makes everything into a competition!”

Sam hit him with an unimpressed look. “Right. Because _Bucky’s_ the one who’s so competitive he’ll enter a chili cook-off just because someone made a comment that his chili was over-spiced.”

“My chili’s not over-spiced!”

“You paid a $75 entrance fee!”

“And I got fifth place, you keep forgetting that part.”

“This isn’t the point!” Sam screeched. “Why would you make out with him if you didn’t like him?”

“Because he said I wasn’t a good kisser!”

“Who’s not a good kisser?” asked Clint. “I’m a good kisser. Natasha, come kiss me so I can prove that I’m a good kisser.”

Natasha pulled a sword out of her jacket.

“Okay,” said Clint, quickly turning away, “I can’t prove it, but I swear I’m a good kisser.”

“We’re not talking about you, Barton,” Steve snapped. He pointed a finger at Sam. “And _you_ can stop talking about this. There’s nothing left to say."  
  
Sam shrugged in a way that definitely said they were coming back to the conversation, but he walked away, and once Steve had straightened his shirt he went to the interrogation rooms. And, of course, Bucky fucking Barnes was standing there waiting for him, stupid cocky smirk on his face.  
  
"Hey, Rogers. Let's do this. I'll be smart cop, you be dumb cop."

"We want Rumlow to believe us," Steve muttered as he followed Bucky into the observation room. Rumlow was looking around. What a...doody-head. “So," Steve continued, trying to lean casually against the wall and failing, "Sam told me...something about you...sort of...being in love with me?”

Bucky’s face didn’t change. The slight smirk remained as he slowly keeled over and fell onto the stack of boxes behind him.

“...You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

* * *

 

Steve tried very hard not to meet Bucky's eyes. This was not awkward. This was on another level. This was watching a video of Justin Bieber doing a striptease for Betty White. This was _horrifying_. This was every uncomfortable moment of Steve's life wrapped up into one and dancing around in his brain like a little anxiety fairy. What did he do to deserve this? 

"Are you just not going to say anything?" asked Bucky - or maybe they should go back to Barnes, now, considering everything. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see that Bucky's face was drooping and he was chewing hard on his bottom lip.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything. Literally anything."

Steve thought about that for a second. If he spoke from the heart, then what Bucky Barnes would end up hearing would be a crazed screeching sound followed by his honest opinion of the events of tonight. Which probably wouldn't be very good for his feelings. But that said, he couldn't lie. He didn't reciprocate those feelings. He had never for a second entertained the idea of having any sort of relationship with Bucky Barnes, whether platonic or romantic. Bucky Barnes was... _Bucky Barnes_ . He was a jackass with no sense of social propriety and yes, he had decent abs, and yes, his hair looked really soft and smooth and sometimes Steve wanted to run his fingers through it, and _yes_ , he's eagerly listened to all the reports given by the uniformed officers about his dating ability. And other abilities. But that didn't mean anything! All it meant was that Steve liked touching soft hair and abs and respectful behavior from men. That man didn't have to be _Barnes._

Barnes scoffed next to him, and Steve belatedly realized that he'd stayed completely silent. "Um... Look," he began, "I'm...flattered, and all. But I, uh, I'm not really interested in dating you."

"Who the hell said _I_ was interested in dating _you_?"

"...Sam?"

Barnes frowned. "Oh. Right."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, because it felt like the right thing to say.

"God, don't do that. I still hate your punk ass."

"Good, because I still think you're a jerk."

"Excellent."

"Great."

"Fantastic."

"Superb."

"Remarkable."

"Stupendous."

They both went back to looking straight ahead. Rumlow was sitting at the interrogation table with a scowl on his face, muttering under his breath and giving the one-way mirror the stinkeye. What a dick.

"Should we talk strategy?" he suggested after a couple of minutes. "We kind of really need this confession."

"We've got the financial records, phone records, all of Natasha's Red Room files. He can't worm his way out of all of that."

"I'm pretty sure he'll find a way. We need to make this airtight."

"Detective Steve Rogers being finicky, why am I not surprised."

Steve tried to swallow down the anger swelling in his throat. He can't yell at Barnes. He just rejected Barnes. You can't cuss out a guy that you just rejected.

"No comeback? Binder got your tongue?"

"Bite my ass, Barnes!"

"You wish."

"Oh yeah, _I'm_ the one thinking about _your_ ass."

He'd expected Barnes to scoff, and grumble under his breath, and deliver some retort that tried to be witty. But instead, his eyes grew soft. He dropped his head, a few stray strands of hair falling out of his bun and into his face. Steve instantly felt bad.

"I'm sorry - "

"Fuck off, Rogers," Barnes muttered, and Steve saw with alarm and terror that he was about to start crying.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"I said _fuck off!"_

Barnes turned and shoved him so unexpectedly that Steve didn't react in time to catch himself before he flew into a filing cabinet. By the time he had cleared his head and realized what had happened, Barnes had thrown open the door and stomped out of the room

Sam found him on the floor in the interrogation room a few minutes later. Steve had spent those minutes as one usually does when they fuck up beyond all measure: remembering every awful thing he ever did in his childhood, acting out the conversation had he _not_ been a complete dick, and stewing in his own self-loathing.

"Get up," Sam said with a weary sigh.

"No."

"There's all kinds of shit on that floor, Steve."

"Well, I'm a piece of shit," Steve muttered, "so I belong here. Leave me, Sam. Before you choke on the smell."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bit dramatic?"

"Literally everyone, all the time, since I was six years old."

"We're right," said Sam. After carefully laying his beige cardigan on the floor and sitting atop it, he looked at Steve. Fuck. He hated Sam's eyes.

"I know," Steve said before Sam could begin. "I fucked up."

"Yeah, you did." Sam let his head tilt back and rest on the wall. "Y'know, I tried to get him to tell you for years. I tried to get you to be nice to him for years. I've invested so much into this relationship."

"There is no relationship, Sam. I just don't feel that way."

"Or," Sam interjected dryly, "you're a stubborn little shit who hasn't even considered the possibility of liking him back."

"I know what it feels like when I'm attracted to someone, Sam."

"I'll point out that you and Peggy fought like cats and dogs too."

"Right, but we loved each other."

Sam gave him a _look_. "Close your eyes." Steve frowned at him, but obliged. "Now just bear with me for a second. Think about how it felt when you kissed him and then you guys humped in the evidence locker - "

"We didn't - "

"Shut your damn eyes, Steve! Okay, now, think about it. Think about how you felt. How your body felt. Was your heart racing? Skin tingling? Skin moist? I know you say you hate him, but you know more about him than I do. You know all of his likes and dislikes, all his fears. Granted, you learned all that so you could make his life a living hell, but still. Think about those three hours when you weren't fighting. When you were just two guys on a date at a restaurant."

"Sam," Steve interrupted, opening his eyes, "I get what you're trying to do here. And yeah, he's a decent date and an acceptable kisser. But that doesn't mean I'm in love with him. That just means I haven't been on a date since Peggy moved away. And I wouldn't have been in this situation if I hadn't lost a bet."

"Okay. Let me ask you this. Why'd you make the bet in the first place?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Because he thinks he can make more felony arrests than me."

"Well, he did, but that's not the point. You could've wagered anything. You could've offered up doing all his paperwork, or _your_ car. But instead you made a bet that you knew could mean you'd go on a date with him."

"Sam, you're doing a really good job of trying to convince me I like him. It's not your fault it's not working. It's just that I know myself, and I know who I'm attracted to, and I know that I still think Barnes is a complete jackass."

"I also know you, and who you're attracted to, and I know you think Bucky's a jackass. But I think you also have feelings for him, and you'd realize that if you ever stopped and thought about this whole feud for a second."

"'Feud' is kind of dramatic."

" _You're_ kind of dramatic. My point is, you had fun on that date. There was a reason you kissed him in the evidence locker, when there was no excuse of being undercover to fall back on."

Sam got up, brushed off his cardigan and pulled it back on, and before he left he sent one last solemn look at Steve. Once the door closed behind him, Steve let his own head fall back, which ended up being a big mistake.

"Fuck!"

Now, with a file cabinet handle-sized dent in his head, Steve also stood. Regardless of what Sam had said, he needed to make things right.

* * *

 

He found Barnes on the roof, slumped over in a lawn chair and chugging down a can of soda like his life depended on it. When he heard Steve approach he lifted his head, but once he met Steve's eyes he instantly scowled and looked away. "What the hell do you want?" 

"I'm sorry."

Barnes rolled his eyes. "And I'm the fucking Queen of England."

"You don't always need to be such an asshole!" Steve snapped before he could think better of it. Barnes scoffed.

"Did you just come up here to call me an asshole?"

"No, I just..." Steve tentatively sat in the other lawn chair beside Barnes, whose gaze never left the skyline in front of them. "I came up here to apologize. I was a dick."

"Yeah, well, you're always a dick."

Steve swallowed down the anger and forced a smile. "RIght. Well, I want to be less dick-ish from now on. I'm sorry for what I said, and if you're up for it, I'd like to start fresh." He held out his hand. "Hey there. I'm Steve, and I'm a detective at Brooklyn's Ninety-Ninth precinct."

Barnes stared at his hand, and Steve began to doubt if he'd actually take it. But then, with a soft smile, Barnes slid his hand into Steve's. "Bucky Barnes. I'm also a detective at Brooklyn's Ninety-Ninth precinct."

"What a coincidence! I can't believe we never ran into each other before now."

"Into roleplay, are you, Rogers?"

"I wanted to say thank you," Steve blurted, and Barnes rolled his eyes at how quickly Steve had destroyed their little make-believe introductions. "I mean, I know that you didn't tell me yourself, and you probably didn't have any intention of telling me because you thought I'd react badly, and, well I didn't react _well_ , but it was kind of shocking so I needed some time to wrap my head around it - "

"Stop rambling and make your point."

"Oh, right. Okay. I just wanted to say that I'm...honored. You're a good guy, Barnes. For you to like someone like me...well, it's more than I deserve. And I'm really flattered, and I'm glad that I know. Even if the way I found out about it was not ideal."

"That's one way of putting it."

"I hope we can maybe be friends, from now on."

Barnes shook his head. "Nah. I'm transferring."

"...What?"

"The deputy chief Fury hates, Hill, she offered me a job at another precinct a while back. I just called and told her I'd take it."

Steve blinked at him. What the hell was happening? Bucky...gone?

"What the hell? You can't leave the Nine-Nine! If you leave you can't say Nine-Nine anymore!"

"It's better for everyone," Barnes said, flicking some hair out of his eyes and staring moodily at the sky. "I can start over. We don't have to see each other anymore."

"But I don't want to not see you anymore."

Barnes gave him a weird look. "You get joy from our pissing matches?"

"No. It's just...you're a part of the team. You can't just leave. It wouldn't be the Nine-Nine without you."

"There's nothing here for me, Rogers," Barnes said with a sad smile. "So I'm moving on to greener pastures."

The sun was just beginning to rise, and the faintest rays of orange and pink were diffusing through the sky. From this angle, Barnes's profile was stark and defined in a way that made Steve wish he'd brought a sketchbook to the roof with him. He was really handsome. Hot too, obviously, but also classically handsome in a way that reminded Steve of old movie stars. Maybe....maybe...

"Can I try something?"

Barnes raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway, and Steve took that as sufficient encouragement to bend forward, cup that sharp jawline with his hand, and press their lips together.

Now there was no excuse. They weren't undercover, they weren't trying to look inconspicuous, they weren't trying to prove a point about who was superior. It was just the two of them, kissing softly in the pre-dawn light. Barnes was still, and when Steve pulled away a few moments later, he swallowed hard and stared down at his shoes.

"...Don't do that."

Steve frowned. Oh god. Had he messed things up even more?

"Don't _pity_ me," Barnes spat. "You don't feel the same way I do, that's fine, but don't kiss me as some kind of pity prize."

"That's not why I kissed you."

"You don't feel the same way. You made that extremely clear."

"I did."

"So why the hell did you do that?"

"I wanted to try it."

"...And?"

Steve smiled in spite of himself. "I want to try again."

Barnes looked at him incredulously, like he half expected Steve to burst out laughing and run back inside. Steve met his gaze. "Jesus," Barnes muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna regret this."

He moved forward, and Steve enthusiastically met him. This time he was kissing back, carefully capturing Steve's lips in his own, rubbing a thumb across his cheekbone. No excuses.

And no way to deny what Steve felt.

Kissing Bucky felt like a miracle. Like everything Steve had been missing. It wasn't like kissing Peggy, who took charge and confidently kissed him with everything she had. Bucky was softer, sweeter, more tentative. He let Steve set the pace, just going along like he wasn't fully convinced all of this wasn't just a vivid dream. When Steve finally managed to tear away, Bucky was looking at him with wonder and confusion, and he instantly wanted to kiss him again.

"What's going on?" he asked, voice soft and uncertain.

"I'm not sure," Steve answered honestly, "but I want to kiss you again."

"You...you don't feel the same way."

"I didn't think so. I'm still not sure. But I know that I want to kiss you again.”

“Rogers…” Barnes swallowed and averted his eyes. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. What if...we went on a date, maybe? A real one?”

Barnes huffed. “Okay,” he said slowly, “so we went from you literally fainting after finding out I liked you to you asking me out in the span of...what, three hours?

“Probably more like three and a half.”

“I think you know that’s not any better.”

“I mean, I can give you another couple of hours, if you want.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Rogers.”

“You can probably call me Steve.”

“Be quiet, Stove,” Bucky muttered, ignoring Steve’s righteous indignation as he stared down at his feet. “Okay. So. There’s a place down the street that has fifty cent bagels. I guess we could. Go.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, Bucket. I’ll counter. There’s a bakery on the corner that has bagels for a non-suspicious price, and places to sit that aren’t covered with roaches.”

“...Okay, Stephano, we can go eat your luxury bagels. But you’re buying.

Steve grinned in spite of himself, and when he got up he held the door open for Bucky. "After you, Borky."

Bucky rolled his eyes and muttered, “Dumbass,” under his breath.

They walked down the street in the dawn light, brushing shoulders and bickering. Unbeknownst to them, Sam watched them from his perch in the third floor window, a beaming smile on his face. When they entered the bakery, Sam turned away and went back to the notepad in his lap. Okay. Definitely lilies for the wedding. Now, back to deciding who he’d be best man for…

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then they got married, stuck Alexander Pierce in jail, and bickered happily ever after. The end!


End file.
